


Once Upon a Dream

by inatrice



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Brainwashing, Casual Mention of Ultra Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, I lov Black okay, Implied Medical Experimentation, Implied Torture, M/M, Memory gaps, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Quintessence Abuse, Quintessence Withdrawl, Sentient Voltron Lions, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-03-28 04:16:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13896051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inatrice/pseuds/inatrice
Summary: Though he lives his life in a haze that leaves only room for his orders, he does hear whispers. He hears of his past accomplishments. Great deeds he completed in the name of the Galra Empire, a pivotal role to lead to their victory over Voltron.But he can't remember what it was. He must have killed someone, someone important. He hears the name Shirogane, always spoken in past tense so he figures that must be it. His name is 117-9875 and he fights in the name of Galra.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't stop. I should literally be doing a million other things and yet here we are. I've lost all control. 
> 
> Please enjoy. I'm testing out some stylistic choices as well as plot devices for a bigger upcoming piece. I'm also working on chapter 2 right now, I'm just very tired and wanted to post something.
> 
> Minimal editing, no beta.

He is a soldier. He fights in the name of Galra. He follows his orders to the tee and is always praised. He is a good soldier, Haggar’s favorite. She always sends him to do her bidding and he always does it with systematic efficiency. 

Though he lives his life in a haze that leaves only room for his orders, he does hear whispers. He hears of his past accomplishments. Great deeds he completed in the name of the Galra Empire, a pivotal role to lead to their victory over Voltron. 

But he can't remember what it was. He must have killed someone, someone important. He hears the name Shirogane, always spoken in past tense so he figures that must be it. His name is 117-9875 and he fights in the name of Galra.

And though his life is one mission right after the other, there are nights where he dreams. Spotty and static visions that somehow break through the haze of his mind. He dreams of great wings, but he has never flown. He dreams of a black lion, but he has never seen such a creature up close. He dreams of violet eyes, but not a purple he has seen in the eyes of his commanders. No, these eyes haunt him when he wakes. In his dreams he sees them sparkling with laughter, laughter that echoes in his brain, follows him down the halls of the imperial ships.

He mentioned the laughter to Haggar once in the beginning and she had given him a dose of quintessence. To help him focus, she said, and the laughter had gone away. He found he missed it.

When he dreams of those eyes and that laugher again, he doesn't tell Haggar. 

He fights in the name of Galra and he is merciless. There is not an enemy that has stood before him and lived. He is their greatest weapon and it is why he exists. 

He does not feel when he kills. The only time he feels is when he dreams. A different laughter that sounds like it should be his own, but he has never laughed. Others that give him warm feelings, but there is no warmth in the Galra Empire. Those violet eyes, however. Sometimes he feels like he is burning and that is something he does know. Zarkon had branded those he had taken for himself and he has burned, but those eyes feel different. They burn him from the inside, from the pit of his stomach up and through him, immolating him completely.

He hadn't much liked the brand, but this heat he always looks forward to.

His name is 117-9875 and he fights in the name of Galra.

His armor is the royal purple of the Emperor even if he had fallen years ago, murdered by his own son. There are whispers that the Empire is divided between a patricidic brat and the late Emperor's witch, but he pays them no mind. He knows who he serves and no one questions him in return.

He fights in the name of Galra and he is being sent out. Voltron has toppled another pillar of the Empire’s now squabbling reach. Haggar had told him enough is enough. He is to meet Voltron’s leader and destroy the Black Paladin. This is his mission, this is his purpose. Vrepit sa.

The battle is already heated when he is deployed, dropped down out of a fighter with 80 sentries behind him. Above him, he sees the Lions spitting out their beams of light, tearing and burning everything in their paths. He fights in the name of Galra but he can appreciate destruction for what it is.

He points his sword to the sky, where the Black Paladin is hovering. A message, a challenge.  _ I am here for you _ .

The Black Lion alights on the ground, causing the land beneath her to tremble in the wake of her might. Such strength once belonged to the Empire and he aims to bring it back.

The fighting around them has stopped, orders whispered through the chain of command as he had walked across the scorched rock. The other Lions touchdown behind their leader, each beast lowering its head to release its master.

He wears a helm to protect his head. It bears the purple of his own masters, fashioned after the late Emperor's face. It sports a shrieking maw and malicious yellow eyes. It strikes fear into the hearts of the Empire's enemies. Word has spread that when you see this specter your life ends and he always takes advantage when his reputation precedes him.

The Paladins approach him and his following of sentries, all of them armored to the teeth and clutching their Bayards. He sees a few of them tremble and it twists his face into a grimace that's meant to look like a smile. He feels no joy, only something reminiscent of satisfaction. He holds out an arm and the sentries behind him stop. He takes a few more steps forward and once more points his sword at the Black Paladin.

“My orders are to kill you.” He says. His voice is nearly as robotic as the sentries. Some officers have whispered behind their hands that it terrifies even them to hear a voice so cold, but that doesn't matter to him. What matters is the Empire and how he can serve it.

The Red Paladin makes to step forward, but the Black Paladin holds up a hand as well. The Black Bayard shifts into a sword. “I'd like to see you try,” comes the challenge. 

With a roar, he runs forward. The Black Paladin matches his pace exactly, letting out a cry of his own. Their blades meet in the middle with a clang of metal and a shower of sparks. The sentries move to intercept the other Paladins before they can interfere. 117-9875 is never to be interrupted.

Their fight is theatrical in a way he's not used to. There are kicks that take advantage of full body momentum, twisting flips that change their positions in the blink of an eye. But there is raw skill and a tenacity that most of his opponents are unable to manage.

His lips twist upwards of their own volition. He can't remember a time when he'd had a fight this good.

He's never fought a Paladin of Voltron before but his body seems to react even before his brain can; the movements reek of familiarity and he can't place why. He and the Black Paladin are evenly matched and the rush of competition sings through his veins. Echoes of the word  _ Champion _ sound against the inside of his skull and a disfigured laugh claws its way up and out of his throat. It surprises even him.

The Black Paladin growls at his apparent glee, sword strokes becoming more aggressive, stance moving into his space. For a not even half of a tick, he is overwhelmed; another surprise. The Black Paladin takes advantage of the opening, aiming for his head, hoping to take it off, but he recovers in time to dodge. The sword glances off of his helmet, sending it flying off of his head.

The Black Paladin freezes. 

His face sneers as he moves to finish his foe, complete his orders. But the Black Paladin recovers at the last moment, throwing his arms up and shielding himself against his blade. The weight of the blow pushes the Black Paladin back and he falls to the ground a small distance away. 117-9875 stalks forward, ready to pounce and ready to kill.

But the Black Paladin is moving again and he’s throwing off his helmet and. Those eyes.

He knows those eyes.

He knows that particular shade of violet that is not of the Empire but is something he cherishes in his own twisted way. Those eyes from his dreams.

He can hear laughter in his head.

The Black Paladin’s mouth is moving but he can no longer hear anything. Now he is frozen and he doesn’t fully know why. He knows he should be taking this opportunity to split the Black Paladin lengthwise. He knows his orders.  _ He knows those eyes _ .

And then the Black Paladin is being pulled to his feet by his team. He seems to fight against their grasp, desperately clawing at them in an attempt to come back.

He watches them go, unable to move his own feet. He watches the Black Lion scoop up her Paladin into her mouth, as if she were lifting a cub up and out of harm’s way. He sees the rest of the Lions accept their charges and the Pride flees with haste.

He is alone once more and for the first time he cannot shut out the unfocused pictures in his head. He’s not alone, but not surrounded by Galra; those eyes, not sparkling, but heated; his lips tingle in response.

He takes a breath and shakes his head. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like not knowing what his mind is doing. Everything had been simple up until this exact moment. He was given orders and he would follow. He may live in a haze but it was comfortable. He knew his purpose. He fought in the name of Galra. Vrepit sa.

He releases a feral growl, putting his armored hands to the sides of his head. It’s a feeble attempt to keep it from splitting open now that it’s full of something other than his orders. He can hear...he can hear...

_ Team Voltron _ .

117-9875 screams so loud his throat begins to bleed. When he runs out of breath, he pushes himself up off of his knees and takes stock of the situation he’s in. His 80 sentries are all destroyed. The officers that had been commanding ranks of soldiers before his arrival watch him closely as they load their teams onto transport aircraft. His eyes fall on his helmet, a wide gash from the Black Paladin’s Bayard in the side. He steps over to pick it up and pings for an extraction.

He fights in the name of Galra and he is confused. For the first time he feels himself at odds with what is presented before him. He waits in the center of the interrogation room, wrists bound in front of him as Haggar paces around him.

“You failed.” She spits.

He did fail. He did not complete his orders. But it doesn’t feel like a failure. It feels like a doorway. He has never been scared in his life and yet this doorway terrifies him. He wants to see what lies beyond it but he won’t move towards it.

“I beg your forgiveness, High Priestess,” He says, his head bowed with the weight of knowledge; of his failure, of the doorway. “It seems I was unfit to fight team Voltron. For now.”

Haggar hisses, black lightning crackling at her fingertips. “Your dosage will be raised and you will kill ten rebel leaders before you will be able to try again.”

“Yes, High Priestess,” He concedes. It’s a just punishment for his failure.

“See that you don’t disappoint me again.” She says.

“Vrepit sa.” He responds, standing up at attention. He watches as she eyes him once more before she turns to leave the room. The pressure in his head grows in that moment and he speaks in an attempt to stop his head from cracking apart. “High Priestess, what is the Black Paladin’s name?”

Haggar whirls around, expression colder than the void of space. “Why?”

He hesitates, unease sloshing through his gut. “I...I know him. Don’t I?”

“He is the Black Paladin, of course you know him. He is a sworn enemy of the Empire and fights daily to see all of our work dismantled.” She tells him, though that answer brings him no comfort, it brings him no closer to the doorway.

Sure that he will ask no more question, Haggar turns from him again and motions for a Druid. “Give him triple the dosage, make sure he forgets.”

The Druid bows his head as she leaves and reaches for the vials of quintessence. He can feel his heart begin to race and he strains against the manacles at his wrists. He knows the icy burn of quintessence and now he’ll be getting three times the amount. He wants to shout, wants to protest, plead that he’ll work harder next time. But he’s already brought enough shame to the Empire for one day. The least he can do is take his punishment in stride.

The Druid floats closer and his body tenses in response. He closes his eyes and grits his teeth before the hypodermic can even pierce his skin. The frozen fire floods his veins and his mouth falls open in a silent cry. The haze in his head grows stronger and he succumbs to his old ally of darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmight've gone a bit overboard. This is minimally edited and largely unbetaed but thank you so much to Zan who helped me out when I was stuck even tho she was sick. I don't deserve u weeps.
> 
> And now: The Conclusion

He fights in the name of Galra. He kills in the name of Galra. There are six fewer rebel leaders and all had perished at his hand. Two of them had tried to speak to him, but there was not much that could break through his quintessence haze. He has his orders. He kills without a thought.

He is on his way to the seventh name on his list. He was granted a small entourage of sentries, to keep interlopers at bay and to monitor him. To make sure he doesn’t fail again. 

He arrives at the base moon, dropped out of the transport ship with his sentries behind. He marches ahead, refurbished helm glinting in the weak sunlight from its faraway star. There is no need for stealth when he arrives, there never is. When he is deployed no one lives. 

He enters the dilapidated hangar silently, only the clicking of the metal sentries next to him. He pauses. There are no fighters, there are no cargo ships, not even the hum of machinery.

“A biorhythm scan,” he demands and a sentry sends out a beam of light. 

Before even half the room is scanned, four lasers flash out in quick succession, hitting each sentry through the head. He steps back and draws his sword, preparing himself for an ambush from the front. But a weight lands on top of him, pinning him to the ground. He sees yellow as his helm is removed and the butt of a rifle meets his skull.

He fights in the name of Galra and he is in a darkened room. The glow of his eyes reveal a chair and his arms bound behind him. He raises his head and waits. Orders will come soon, they always do.

Time must pass, but he has no way of measuring it. He waits for his orders. He will not fail again.

He does not react when he hears a door open. Light floods through behind him and the shadow of a man fills it before the door hisses closed again.

“Shiro?”

He does not know this voice and he does not know that name. He remains quiet. He will wait for his orders. Vrepit sa. 

A small light is switched on, illuminating only himself in a small cone. In his peripheral vision he sees the toes of boots enter the light. They are not Galra purple.

“Shiro, say something.”

The voice in front of him wavers. He blinks once.

“I don't know who Shiro is.” He tells the voice because it is true. If he complies he will receive orders. “I am 117-9875 and I fight in the name of Galra.”

There is a harsh intake of breath. It startles him, but he does not move. The owner of the voice comes into the cone of light. He wears no armor, only a black shirt and black pants. His eyes...are purple. Not the purple he knows, not the purple of his commanders. But, he thinks, he knows this purple from…somewhere.

“Shiro, please.” The man pleads with him. He leans in and his eyes are wet. “You know me, don’t you?”

He does not meet the man's eyes. He doesn't know this man. He doesn't know why he's begging him. He is a weapon for conquest and nothing more.

He ignores the tears that fall onto his lap. They do not matter, only his orders matter. He will wait for his orders. He will not fail again. Victory or death..

The man crawls into his lap. He is begging again, incessantly now. The words and the tears won't stop. Wet kisses are pressed to his cheeks. He's never felt such a touch before and his heart pounds in his chest. 

He does not move, does not react. He does not know what this man wants from him. Where is Haggar? Where are his orders?

“I don't know who Shiro is.” He tells the man again. He doesn't know what else to do.

The kisses stop. The man pulls back and stands, wiping at his eyes before standing at attention. “God, I'm...so sorry. I'll bring you some food and water.”

The man leaves just as quietly as he'd arrived. Not long after, the door is opened again and a plate of food and a cup are left for him. He does not eat. He does not have orders.

His name is 117-9875 and he fights in the name of Galra. He is imprisoned. He must escape. He must make it back to command. He must not fail again.

He tries to move and realizes he's restrained. He rolls to the side, in a puddle of his own sweat, and tries to activate his arm but there is nothing. He looks down and sees the cuff preventing activation. He growls and it rips at his parched throat. He tries to push his arms outward, settling for brute strength instead.

The cuffs do not break. He screams.

He screams and he screams and then there are voices. Voices outside of his cell. He doesn't know them. He doesn't know their tone. Light switches on and there are faces. He doesn't know them.

But there are violet eyes.

Does he know  _ that _ ?

The faces are concerned. He realizes he hasn't stopped screaming yet and shuts his mouth. The wide face looks between the violet eyes and the blonde one.

He realizes he can smell himself. He is drenched with sweat and he is filthy.

“Who are you?” He asks, because he has nothing else.

“Shiro, it's us…” The blonde one says. She is so small. He could crush her without even trying, he thinks.

Violet eyes are wet. Again? When had he seen them cry before?

“Don't you recognize your team?” A fourth voice and suddenly blue eyes crowd his vision. “Don't you recognize the Paladins of Voltron?”

His vision whites. He hears a loud crack, the fourth voice is screaming now, and soon the others. He feels hands on him and he struggles against them.

“I will be the end to Voltron!” He cries so viciously his throat rips again. “I will kill the Paladins! I fight in the name of Galra!”

His vision returns. The wide one and the small one are crowding the fourth voice. The fourth voice clutches his face as blood streams from his nose.

Violet eyes are in front of him. He has to blink away blood pumping from a wound on his own head to see them clearly. They settle his racing heart.

But, no, that's not right. He knows this face. He's fought it before. The violet eyes belong to-

“The Black Paladin.” He growls. He no longer possesses a robotic tone. He now only has a tone of cold malice.

He will not fail again.

He watches the violet eyes fly open as he throws himself forward. He will not fail again. 

The cell is thrown into chaos. The small one shoves herself in between the two of them, pushing the Black Paladin away from him, while the large one grabs him around the torso to restrain him further. The cell door opens and there are two more bodies in the room, one orange and one white. The white one holds him back as well, her arms stronger than the other. He fights against it. The Black Paladin is right there. He cannot fail again. The others are yelling and he joins in, gaze locked on those shocked violet eyes.

The orange one come at him, syringe in hand. His eyes zero in on the instrument. He's failing again. They're dosing him with quintessence to start the mission over. He struggles against the two who hold him, managing to knock the yellow one off, but the white one holds firm. He cannot fail again. No. No no. Non _ onono _ .

He doesn't realize he's screaming the word until the needle pierces his skin and he stops. Everyone stops. 

The cell is quiet. There is no freezing fire in his veins, only a warm calmness.

The white one brings him to the cell bed and helps him down as his knees give out. He's confused, so confused. He's never experienced such gentleness.

“Keith are you sure that's a good idea?” Comes a voice.

The Black Paladin fills his vision again, that violet taunting him. “Shiro, please.”

The Black Paladin is begging. For what he doesn't know.  He is a prisoner here, he has nothing to give.

“Please come back to me.” The man continues. His eyes close as he falls to his knees next to the bed. The room is silent except for the his shaking breath. “Takashi. Please.”

_ Takashi _ . It pounds against the inside of his skull.  _ Takashi, Takashi.  _ He knows that. How does he know that? What does it mean?

Violet eyes are the last things he sees before darkness overtakes him again.

He fights...no...he’s too exhausted to fight now. His entire body is shaking and sweating and he is curled around a bucket. He feels so sick, like he could vomit at any moment, but he's shaking too hard to do anything. He hopes there are no orders to come. It would just lead to failure. He can't fail again, he knows that. But right now a part of him wants to.

A gentle hand moves the bangs that are plastered onto his forehead. He flinches, though it's more of a twitch than any real attempt to protect himself.

“Shh, it's just me.” Comes a soft voice.

He...has heard this voice before. “Who…?” There's an echo in his brain.  _ Takashi, Takashi, Takashi _ .

A cool cloth dabs at his sweaty face. “It's Keith.” A gentle answer to match gentle strokes. “Do you remember me, yet, Takashi?”

A violent shudder forces its way through his body and he gasps. “I don't know who Takashi is, but I know that name.” His voice is rough, like he had been screaming for hours. Maybe he had. Everything is so scrambled. He lets out a frustrated groan.

The voice hushes him again. “We'll figure that out later, okay? Right now you just need to rest.”

“What's happening to me?” He asks. His voice sounds so weak. It disgusts him.

“Withdrawls from the excess quintessence.” The cloth is back on his forehead. “Coran’s been monitoring your vitals day and night. You should be okay, it's just going to be hell until it's all out of your system.” The cloth leaves but fingers replace it in a heartbeat.

He finds himself soothed by the touch and it confuses him. Everything is so confusing. Why is he being treated so well? He's failed his mission twice now, and he's a prisoner in a cell. He never even got this kind of kindness when he was doing everything right.

“Why are you doing this?” He asks, his voice breaking. “Who are you? Why am I here?” He doesn't understand. None of this makes sense. 

He feels the man lean down and press a kiss to his sweaty temple. “I don't want to overwhelm you, but will you trust me if I tell you you're safe and around people who care about you?”

He opens his eyes, finally, and looks up. Violet eyes meet him and his heart begins to pound. He's dreamed of them before. It feels like a lifetime ago. He knows them. He's confused and he's scared but he wants to trust those eyes so badly. So he nods his head.

The man above him smiles softly and runs fingers through his hair again. “I'll tell you everything when you're feeling better, okay?” Another gentle press of lips and this time he doesn't want it to stop. “Thank you for trusting me, Takashi.”

_ Takashi, Takashi, Takashi. _

_ Takashi, Takashi, Takashi. _

The name is still bouncing around in his head when he wakes up again. He's no longer shaking, though his body feels heavy and he's still nauseous. 

His head is clearer than he can ever remember it being. There's no haze, there's no fuzz.  _ Quintessence withdrawal.  _ That's what he was told. He never wants that stuff near him ever again.

He shoots upright. He remembers. Violet eyes, a soft voice, and gentle fingers. He remembers.

He leans over the edge of the cell bed and retches, having sat up much too quickly. He's thankful there's a bucket. 

He takes a deep breath once he's done and looks around the cell he's been in for god knows how long. There's one side of solid wall, the rest seems to be a translucent energy barrier. There's something about the design that wiggles something in the back of his brain, but he can't place it. Not just yet.

“Hello?” He says aloud. There has to be monitoring technology. He hopes there's an audio feed. “There's been a man in here? Taking care of me?” He pauses and shuts his eyes hard, fighting off a wave of nausea. “I think he's the Black-"

He doesn't get the chance to finish his sentence because the door in the solid wall is hissing open and the man with the violet eyes hurries in.

“Shiro?” 

He just stares at him, almost afraid to move.

“Takashi?” The man tries again, voice softer. “Do you remember me?”

Hearing  _ Takashi  _ makes his shoulders relax. “You were here last time….”

The man nods, a smile starting to form on his lips. “I was. Do you remember anything else?”

He looks down at his lap. “You...were touching my hair and face.” He looks back up. “And you kissed me.”

The man's face turns red. “Ah, yeah. I did.” He looks like he wants to move closer but thinks better of it and folds his arms across his chest, making himself smaller. “I'm so sorry. You weren't in a place to consent to that.”

He shakes his head carefully. “I...liked it. No one's ever touched me like that before.” He tells him.

The brows above those violet eyes knit together and the man looks so sad in the moment he feels guilty for saying anything. The thought makes him pause. He can't remember the last time he felt an emotion such as guilt, since he felt anything other than a desire to complete orders or anger against the enemies of the Empire.

The two are silent for a few minutes before he speaks again. “Is...is Takashi my name?”

The man watches him carefully before he nods. “Takashi Shirogane. That's you. But we've always called you Shiro.”

He, Takashi, feels himself blanch. “Shirogane?” He remembers hearing that name amongst the Galra commanders and officers and suddenly he feels sick again. “I...I thought I killed him.”

The man, the Black Paladin, finally steps farther into the cell and kneels on the floor next to the bed. His eyes, those violet eyes that he dreamed of, are giving him a soft look. He, Takashi, feels himself settle. He wants to reach out, to touch.

“They tried to kill you.” The other man tells him. “They tried so many times, but you're still here, Shiro.” 

They watch each other. He, Takashi, doesn't even register that time has passed until the other man speaks again. 

“Do you remember me?”

Takashi, he's Takashi, looks away. He must mean something to this man if he's so desperate to be remembered. But he doesn't remember this man. He only remembers being in Galra hands. So he tells him the truth.

“I know your eyes. I dreamt about them, but I don't know why. And your laugh.” He sighs softly. “I told Haggar of the dreams once and she dosed me with enough quintessence that I didn't dream anything for a month. But when your eyes showed up again, I stayed quiet. I love them.”

Those eyes that he, Takashi, loves blink hard and a few tears slip down his cheeks.

“What's your name?” He asks because he needs to know.

The other man opens his eyes and tries to smile. “Keith. My name is Keith.” 

“Why did I dream of your eyes, Keith?” Takashi asks. “Why do I know you?”

Keith looks like he is at a loss for words. His mouth opens and closes a few times, but he says nothing at first. “I don’t want to shock you or overwhelm you, so I’m trying to pick my words carefully.”

Takashi sits patiently. It feels like waiting for orders, though he’s a lot more apprehensive about this.

“We’re from the same planet,” Keith starts, once he’s gathered himself. “Earth. You and I were in a space exploration program together. That’s how you know me. We were pilots together.”

Takashi frowns at him and shakes his head. “I’ve never flown.”

Keith sighs, it’s nearly silent but it is still there. “I asked you a few days ago if you would trust me and you agreed.”

He’s right. Even though it’s hazy, Takashi does remember it. So he nods.

“Then trust me when I say this: I won’t lie to you. About yourself, about me, about anything.” Keith reaches out a palm, open, inviting. An offering. “And I’m going to help you remember as much as you can because you don’t deserve a single thing that’s been done to you, you-”

Keith’s voice breaks and he nods down at his hand. Takashi glances between his face and his upturned palm a few times and finally he reaches out his own hand and carefully rests it in Keith’s. His hand is warm and calloused from use, and even though his hand is half the size, he holds Takashi’s hand like it is precious. Goosebumps appear on his flesh and his heart begins to race as heat rises in his face. He takes a moment to appreciate how beautiful Keith is, especially as he offers a soft, wobbly smile.

Takashi feels the corners of his lips rise by themselves. It’s an odd sensation, enough to make him bring his free hand up to touch.

Keith chuckles at his confused expression and Takashi’s heart soars, his lips spreading wider. That laugh. The laugh that’s always kept him company in his dreams, it’s here and it’s in front of him and…

“My chest feels...bubbly?” He asks. It’s strange but not unwelcome.

“You’re happy.” Keith tells him, though there’s a sadness in his violet eyes. “But it’s good to see you smile again.”

Takashi looks away, finding it hard to maintain eye contact when he’s experiencing such foreign emotions.

Keith squeezes his hand. “Do you want to shower? And some fresh food from the kitchen? Hunk’s in there right now.”

He nods and Keith helps him to his feet before leading him out of the cell.

Takashi, he’s Takashi, insists that he sleeps in the cell for now. Keith hadn’t looked entirely pleased with the decision, but he didn’t press. Takashi doesn’t know how permanent this clarity is and he’s not going to risk hurting Keith if he loses control and blacks out. He’s hurting him enough already just by asking stupid questions and giving him confused looks. Physical violence might just kill him.

Keith is careful with him, steps around him like he’s walking on thin ice, touches him as though he is wet paper ready to tear. The others are not nearly as gentle. 

The yellow one, Hunk he learns, hugs him roughly whenever he walks into a room. He, Takashi, likes those. They make him feel real and loved in a different way than what Keith has shown him. Hunk always finds him first when there is something new in the kitchen to try. 

The Red Paladin, the blue one, Lance, has quite a mouth. It earns him endless glares from Keith. Takashi was confused and scared by both of them at first. He didn’t understand half of what Lance said and was terrified he was going to watch the young man die when Keith glared daggers at him. He’d seen officers cut down for less on the Imperial ships. But Hunk had snorted at the words, and Keith rolled his eyes and he nudged Takashi away from them to show him more of the ship. It’s a few weeks of exposure before Takashi is comfortable enough to not flinch whenever it happens. No one ever said recovery was linear.

They cheer and pound him on the shoulder the day he finally smirks at one of Lance’s comments.

Pidge, the small one, the one he, Takashi, could still crush if he isn’t careful around her. He can tell she resents that he’s so on guard with himself around her. But he adores her. She is brilliant and quick and a driving force behind the entire team, a bright spark of pure life that nearly blinds him. If he’s not trailing behind Keith, Takashi finds himself sitting in her lab just watching her.

Allura, the Blue Paladin, an Altean Princess is difficult for him to manage himself around. Though the entirety of Team Voltron had once been his targets, the other Paladins are...easier to be around. They are themselves unabashedly, something he wishes he could do as well, but they know him better than he knows himself and any attempt simply feels forced. Allura, noble and diplomatic, holds herself at an emotional distance from him. Takashi doesn’t blame her, he does the same with her. Someone who was so hated on every level in the Empire, someone he was told he needed to kill every chance they got. He doesn’t trust himself around her, even less than he trusts himself with Keith, so he keeps his physical distance as well in the hopes that he can avoid black outs and physical violence with her.

Coran is...strange. And a lot to handle when they’re all together. But he's softer when they're alone in the med bay and he's checking up on Takashi’s health. He prefers Coran that way.

Keith asks to show him the Lions a few weeks in. Takashi is hesitant at first. The biggest piece of his memory of the Lions is  _ enemy _ and  _ destruction _ , but he had promised Keith that he trusted him, so he goes. Keith tells him that the Lions usually sit in their own hangars, but since he’s been back they all insist on sitting in Black’s hangar. They missed him and wanted to see him, wanted to know if he was okay after such an extended time with the Galra.  _ Wants to know if he is safe for their Paladins _ is something his mind fills in for him. Takashi thinks he always knew the Lions had sentience, it was implied each time Haggar had spoken of them, but when he follows Keith into the hangar and sees five sets of gigantic eyes land on him he  _ knows _ . 

The Lions watch him closely. Even if they don’t have pupils to show direction, he can feel their appraising stares prickle at his skin. He thinks he can hear them whispering to each other, and maybe with his extreme and prolonged exposure to quintessence he can. Takashi reaches out a trembling hand and clings to Keith’s arm.

Takashi’s eyes lock onto Black’s and his whole body shudders. Keith glances between them and frowns up at the Head of Voltron.

“It’s not  _ his _ fault, you know.” He growls at her, as if he’s talking to an overprotective older sibling. He takes a step forward and places himself between them.

The Lions deliberate around them, though Takashi cannot take his eyes off of Black. She watches him, though the gaze does not feel cold. 

**_LET ME SEE YOU_ **

Takashi hesitates for a heartbeat, but releases his too tight grip on Keith’s arm and steps around him and towards what he has only heard described as a monstrous weapon. 

Her head follows him as he approaches. He can feel something in the back of his brain, a sparking and shoddy connection to the creature in front of him, to all of them, to Keith, to the other Paladins. It’s damaged and frayed and in desperate need of repair, but it’s there.

Takashi jumps when the mighty beast in front of him moves her whole body. She leans down and rests her head on the ground so that they are level.

**_COME HERE CHILD_ **

Hardly able to breathe, he staggers forward, left hand raised and eyes wide as if he can’t believe something so Holy would even let him near. When his skin touches the metal, it is warm and a wave of familiarity crashes over him. He takes the last two steps forward and presses his whole body against her muzzle. He feels tears fill his eyes and spill over before the sob tears its way out of his chest. The Black Lions purrs for Takashi as he lets himself mourn what he’s lost, even if he’s unsure of what half of it even is. After a few heartbeats the other Lions join her in comforting their prodigal cub, finally back amongst his pride. 

He reaches back and Keith is there, wrapping his strong arms around Takashi’s middle, his own tears staining the back of Takashi’s shirt. Soon he turns in Keith’s arms and then the two of them are sinking to the floor, clutching desperately at each other while they soak in the warmth that Black offers them. Takashi cannot tell if it’s minutes or hours later but he finally speaks:

“Thank you.” He says it to everyone in the hangar. If giant metal space Lions could smile, he’s sure they’re doing it now. Keith simply lifts his face and presses his lips softly to the underside of his jaw.

Takashi places his chin on top of Keith’s head and thinks before he asks a question that has been nagging him for weeks.

“Did we love each other?”

He hears Keith swallow hard. It’s a difficult question, he knows, but he still trusts Keith with the truth. “We did. Absolutely. No one questioned the depth our bond.” He shifts slightly in Takashi’s arms. “If...if you’re asking if we had a physical relationship...towards the end--towards your last capture, we had finally started trying. We hadn’t really talked about it, or labeled it, but I don’t think either of us could stand not having it at that point.”

Takashi nods slowly, chewing on the information before coming to his next question.

“Will you kiss me?”

Keith pushes himself back and searches Takashi’s face. “Shiro...are you sure?”

He nods. 

“I don’t want to push you.” Keith tells him, looking a bit strained.

“I’ve liked it when you have before.” Takashi assures him. 

Keith’s face goes a bit red at that. “Right….” He chews on his lip and looks to the hangar floor for a moment. “Promise me you’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

“I promise.”

“Okay.”

Keith raises a hand to Takashi’s cheek and searches his eyes once more. He must find what he’s looking for and Takashi lets himself be lead down, eyes falling closed as their lips meet. 

It’s a simple and chaste touch to start, but Takashi feels his blood begin to sing with that fire that visited him whenever he dreamed of Keith’s eyes during his captivity. Something akin to muscle memory takes over and he tilts his head and pulls Keith closer. His heart begins to pound in his chest and that bubbly happiness that is becoming so common here in the Castle flows outward and towards the edges of his limbs.

It’s why it’s so frustrating when he chokes on it in the next breath. He breaks the kiss and turns his head away.

“Shiro?” Keith’s voice is thick with concern and his other hand finds its way to his other cheek. “Shiro, was it too much? Talk to me, please. What is it?”

Takashi’s eyes open and he looks at the other man sadly. “My body remembers you.” He says, voice wavering. “My heart, my blood, my arms, my lips.” He presses his forehead to Keith’s in pained defeat. “Why won’t my brain catch up?”

Keith takes in a shaking breath before he starts to pepper Takashi’s face with feather light kisses. “We’ll get there,” He says between pecks. “I promise you, baby, we’ll get there.”

Takashi merely nods and lets Keith fawn over him for a moment. 

The two of them look up at the same time as the room is suddenly filled with waves of glee coming from the Lions themselves.

There are days when he struggles to remember anything: their names,  _ Keith, Pidge, Hunk, Lance, Allura, Coran _ , his own name,  _ Takashi, Takashi, Takashi _ , where he is,  _ The Castle of Lions, among peers, among teammates _ . There are days Keith comes to retrieve him and he will interact with the team and not remember a single thing about it the next day. There are days Keith comes to retrieve him and he is huddled as far away from the door as possible, shaking and terrified of everything in front of him because Haggar will find him and will punish him, shoot him through with enough quintessence that he will forget his own name again.

But there are good days in between those days. Takashi helps Hunk bake, plays games with Lance, watches Pidge input her data. He wants to watch Keith train, but the first time they tried that, Takashi had blacked out. He did...something, because Keith had a bruised cheek the next day. Takashi hadn't let himself leave the cell.

Keith takes him on as many tours of the Castle as he likes. It's his favorite thing to do. As much as Takashi likes the rest of the team, he loves it when he and Keith are alone, just the two of them. His expression softens, his violet eyes sparkle, and he’s quick to offer him any smile he wants. Every time they tour the Castle, Takashi seems to remember something else. He loves remembering things, even little details because they make Keith happy. He doesn't feel like he's failing when Keith is happy. 

Sometimes the two of them will sit together in the observation deck. It took six visits before Takashi remembered how much time they spent there before and it’s there that Takashi asks if he can try to sleep in his own room again, much to Keith’s delight. 

It's still foreign to him, the knowledge that there was a time he existed before he was purely a Galra weapon. Logically, it makes sense, Takashi knows he wasn't born amongst them. But the fogginess and incompleteness of his memories from before then make it feel like it was lifetimes ago, like they were experienced by someone else whose body he just happens to inhabit now. But when he and Keith are in the observation deck, his head on Keith's lap and Keith's fingers in his hair, the memories don't seem quite so far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roll credits! Thank you so much for bearing with this and reading. I know it's rough but I'm experimenting lol.
> 
> Come yell at me on twitter @inatrice ilu!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Like I said, chapter 2 is in the works. I just. Gotta pin down that ending.
> 
> If you noticed a lot of parallels between this and Steve/Bucky congratulations you now know one of my favorite ship tropes!
> 
> In any case, any feedback is greatly appreciated, in the comments or if you come and yell at me on Twitter @inatrice. Thanks again for stopping by, ilu.


End file.
